Make Up Your Mind
by A Beautiful Irony
Summary: Selina Kyle is attending a society function when who should appear but Tall, Dark, and Brooding - or as he is now, Bruce Wayne, Idiot Playboy. Tensions runs high as they fight to remain cavalier in a room full of dancing citizens. But when Catwoman calls Batman out, Bruce has to face the true motivations for his actions.
1. Chapter 1

Make Up Your Mind

She knows his footsteps before he speaks.

"Enjoying the artwork," he asks, his deep voice warm, concealing an undercurrent of tension. She is standing before a glass-fronted exhibit, a large potted fern to her left, effectively blocking a quick escape. He has cornered her. She knows it to be a calculation. Selina stifles a sigh, turning to face him.

"Bruce," she says. She leans back against the wall, her short, dark hair brushing the glass. One thin strap of the slim black evening gown slips infinitesimally lower down her shoulder. His eyes track it for a moment, then he returns his attention to her face.

"I thought I might find you here," he declares pleasantly.

"And yet, you still came."

Their eyes lock, and she focusses on the feel of the Champaign glass resting in her delicate fingers. It is not easy to challenge him here, in front of all these people, without the protection of a mask. To have to be so nonchalant. As if it doesn't sting, seeing the judgment in those sharp, blue eyes, knowing what lies behind them.

"The Clairmonts would be vastly insulted if I didn't attend the opening of their newest donation to the Gotham Museum," he says pompously, all Billionaire Playboy.

"For however long it lasts," she smirks. His mouth thins slightly.

"Planning a liberation?" His tone is abruptly dark, almost that of his pointy-eared counterpart. She sips her drink. His transformations into the Bat are always like this, sudden and complete. It's a bit unsettling to watch, even after all this time.

"Nothing right now," she purrs. True, the idea is tempting, an exhibit dedicated solely to the worship of cats in ancient Egypt – honestly, do they set themselves up for these theme-crimes on purpose? – but who really needs another gold statue of Bast?

"I'm just admiring the workmanship."

"And in the future?" he asks, glaring into her green gaze. Selina smiles, covering her anger with seduction.

"Guess you'll find out." She saunters away from him, raising her glass in passing. She can feel his eyes on her as she walks, the cut of the dress baring the soft skin of her back, its silken fabric sliding over her thighs. She suppresses a shudder.

There is limited conversation to be had at this particular gathering of Gotham's elite, mostly consisting of old society matrons out for publicity, hoping to be overheard gossiping about their latest triumphs and charity projects. The few people present under the age of sixty all seem to have been guilt-tripped into accompanying Grandmamma, and all appear desperate for escape.

Mindless flirtation aside, she never has spoken with many of these trust-fund babies. When she's not casing the place, Selina realizes, she really only talks to Bruce at these things.

Male gazes trail her throughout the room. Selina declines to make eye contact with any of them. She attempts small talk with one of the younger women, but quickly runs out of common ground. The girl doesn't like cats. Or history. Or architecture, or poetry, or engineering, or anything but the Atkins Diet and Paris Fashion Week. The topic quickly turns to a series of compliments on one another's shoes, out of sheer desperation. It is almost a relief when he finally, inevitably, cuts in.

"Ah, Beatrice. I see you've met Miss Kyle."

The girl – Beatrice – perks up like a spaniel when the most eligible bachelor on the East Coast mentions her name.

"Well, Bruce Wayne," she says playfully, crossing her arms. "What a nice surprise." He smiles blandly at her, nodding. Then he turns to Selina.

"Miss Kyle."

"Mister Wayne," she quips, a smirk in her eyes.

"I wonder if I could have you a moment." His face is open, conveying innocence. Only Selina hears the thread of confrontation in his words.

"Certainly," she says, her teeth bared in a smile. He takes her arm and moves her into the middle of the dance floor, placing his hands on her waist. She looks at him warily, holding her champaign in one hand, the other resting over his powerful bicep, not quite touching him.

"What the hell are you doing," she hisses. In response, he snatches up her hand in his and begins to lead her in a simple waltz.

"What are you really doing here, Selina," he says softly, his tone laced with iron.

"Attending a charity function," she whispers hotly. "One I did not know you would choose to grace with your presence, so I'm sorry if I broke one of your damned rules."

"You know why I had to implement this protocol."

"Yes," she says, her voice nearly inaudible, danger oozing into the small space between them. "You made it perfectly clear that your need to remain a lone, miserable shadow is just one of your many charming character flaws."

"Selina," he warns. "I can't work with the constant threat of—"

"I said," she cuts him off. "You made it clear." He flinches.

"Which brings us to our next order of business," she continues. "You knew perfectly well I was liable to show up tonight. So why did you risk breaking your own rules? Just to see me?"

"I wanted to make sure you didn't fall back into the past." She could slap him.

"What, I lose love, so I go back to my bad old ways," she asks scathingly. He shrugs.

"You've done it before."

She scoffs.

"You overestimate your impact on me." The lie tastes foul, but feels good coming out, sharp, maybe enough to cut him, to scratch that armor he hides behind. His eyes harden.

"It's always best to check."

"And is that what you're doing? Checking up on me?" She sighs in frustration. "Bruce, I haven't lifted a thing from a museum in two years – I've gone straight, remember? Converted. Just like you always wanted." The bitterness in her statement takes him visibly aback.

"Selina—."

"Let me go, Bruce." She attempts to pull out of his grasp, but he holds her to him. She can't risk any greater resistance without causing a scene. Still, she does not back down.

"What do you want from me," she grinds out. "What more could you possibly get from me, you utterly self-righteous bastard?"

"You know the importance of the Mission," he murmurs, his voice like steel.

"I know that you sacrifice your happiness and that of everyone around you in the name of it." God, it hurts to look at him.

"That is not why I ended it between us," he says quietly.

"Right, that was out of some twisted sense of honor you manufactured special, for the occasion."

His face contorts in something like pain. He holds her closer, whispering in her ear.

"You _know _what Joker could do to you – what any of them would do if they discovered the truth."

Selina laughs severely.

"Please, like it hasn't been hot underworld gossip from day one."

"Gossip is one thing; hard knowledge is dangerous. We were being reckless. It had to stop."

"Anyone who would take me on because of Batman learned a long time ago, it's not a great idea."

The music changes. A new song starts up as dancers shift around them.

"Things change," he murmurs. "You're too vulnerable to be seen with me."

"If you ever knew me at all, you know that the last thing I am is vulnerable."

"I can't take that chance."

"Isn't that my decision?"

He swings her away from an advancing couple, keeping their conversation as private as possible.

"You have to understand," he continues. "This has to end."

"Then why are you still here," she asks. He does not answer. "I can't take this, Bruce," she whispers. "I made my peace with this mess. I accepted that you would never let us be anything more than we've ever been. That you never wanted to see me again. I was dealing with it." Her teeth clench. "Then you show up at that art show, and the charity auction, that stakeout in the East End, and now this. Every time I think I've healed a little, you appear out of the blue and tear it all to hell. If it's over, then let it end, for god's sake!"

There is a long pause. Bruce seems at a loss for words. Selina goes on, more softly, trying not to choke.

"I am not your toy or your sidekick."

"I never tried to make you a sidekick," he huffs.

"Like hell you didn't!"

"Selina, don't-."

"No, I remember. I'm 'the strongest person you've ever known' – just not strong enough to be Batman's equal."

"You're twisting my meaning."

"Fine, then tell me why you keep using the same excuses to break it off between us."

"My reasons are not excuses – I have explained—."

"The real reason, Bruce."

"It's for your protection!"

"Oh please, it's for yours," she exclaims.

A group of women by the refreshment tables are watching them intently. Bruce slows their pace, and they lower their voices to a more discreet level.

"This is what you do," Selina says. "You're so afraid of getting hurt, of committing to something, that you simply push anyone away who gets too close. You destroy your relationships. You self-destruct."

"You don't know what you're talking about," he mutters.

"Don't I?" She stares into his face, her emerald eyes penetrating. He matches her, refusing to back down, refusing to respond. Selina exhales slowly, a wave of sorrow and shame washing over her.

"Let me go, Bruce." She attempts to pull away from him again. His grip tightens in response.

"Not until you understand."

"I'm done trying to understand. Just leave me alone."

"Selina, goddammit, just listen to me!"

"Let. Me. Go."

"I am trying to protect you."

"_Now." _

They have stopped moving. He grips her like a vice, bruising her skin in his anger. Their eyes clash, his blue and her green, raging against one another in silent battle. Selina is so livid, she could spit. The silence is electrically charged.

Without warning, his mouth is on hers, his arms crushing her against him in a desperate embrace. She gasps and his tongue slips inside her mouth. A roaring fills Selina's ears and her face flushes, growing hot. The kiss is deep, insistent. When his hands move to the small of her back, warm, skin against skin, the world falls away. Her eyes flutter shut as the champaign glass slips from her fingers, landing with a muted crash on the parquet flooring. She returns his kiss with fervor, her soft lips caressing him, her tongue darting out to meet his in a familiar dance. She twines her fingers in his hair, securing his face more firmly to hers. His palm cups the back of her neck.

God, how she's missed him. He and all his stupid rules, letting fear get in the way of what they have, what they need. He fills her senses. His smell, his lips, the planes of his face, his arms, his chest. She remembers her name on his breath, whispered like a prayer in the night. And the way he would hold her, afterward, as if to shield her from all the perils of their broken, imperfect world. And the way he would let her comfort him after some terror had woken him from sleep. The sound of his cape beside her as they soar over the rooftops – the taste of his skin – the color of his eyes – the sounds he makes in his sleep. The sounds he makes during other activities.

_Wait. _

He traces her spine with his fingertips. She sighs into the kiss.

_Wait._

Moisture gathers at the corners of her eyes.

_Stop!_

She pushes him away, her eyes flying open. They both gasp as, startled, he lets her fall back to her feet. Neither of them is sure when he picked her up. They struggle to regain their breath, their panting loud in the silent ballroom. For a moment, they simply stare at each other, shocked. Selina's vision blurs and she touches a finger to her eyes, mortified to find tears there. They grow thicker as a fine haze of anger and humiliation settle in like a cloud around her. She trembles with it.

Bruce hangs his head in shame before her. He can't bear to look at her.

"Selina," he whispers, "I'm—."

The sound of the slap echoes in the room.

"How dare you," she murmurs, rage making her voice oddly soft. "How _dare _you."

Bruce opens his mouth but no words form. Flashbulbs erupt in a cacophony of blinding light. Selina is not sure how many of them may have gone off while they embraced. Chatter resumes at a rapid pace, everyone talking at once, all eyes on the two figures in the middle of the ballroom. Selina leaves him there, alone with his masks and his damned walls. Cameras follow her out, men shouting questions, asking for statements. She shakes her head, waving them all away, trying very hard not to think.

They blockade her at the doors to the museum, demanding to know the story behind the display.

_So much for not causing a scene, _is all that comes to mind.

She tries to hail a cab, but the mob is blocking her view of the street. She shields her eyes and attempts to push through them, but to no avail. She is just contemplating her acrobatic options when that damn voice appears behind her, once again.

"Miss Kyle," Bruce says softly. The crowd of photographers quiets instantly. Selina does not turn around.

"Let me take you home," he continues. "I'll call my car."

"No. Thank you. I'll manage."

"Please. I promise. I'll only take you home."

Selina takes a deep breath, then looks at him. He still refuses to meet her gaze. His face is unreadable, shadowed by dark, boyish hair. He looks so… sad. Selina exhales.

"God, Bruce," she whispers, coming closer. "Why do you do this?"

"I'm sorry." She can barely hear him. "I just… can't bear the thought of losing you. Again."

She closes her eyes, resting her forehead against his. He breathes deeply. She exhales and they move farther away from the eager reporters.

"Listen to me," she says. "Whatever danger I'm in, I always will be. You were never going to change that. So stop with the tired excuses. You're not protecting me, Bruce, you're protecting yourself." He is silent, so she continues. "I won't play second fiddle. You don't want a partner, you want a submissive. I will not be your sidekick in that life, or your plaything in this one. We're either equals, or we're nothing. You chose the latter. So why can't you stick to it for once? Why do you have to keep breaking my heart like this? Make up your damn mind, Bruce!"

"I… don't know if I can," he whispers.

She forces the words out. They sear her throat.

"Then I'm leaving Gotham." She's thought about it. She could do it. If it doesn't kill her to try.

"So you can move on," he says. She laughs bleakly.

"Bruce, it's been twelve years. Don't you think if I was able to stop loving you, I would've done it by now?" There is a long moment.

Finally, he murmurs, "Don't leave."

She pinches the bridge of her nose between her thumb and forefinger.

"Then what are we going to do?"

He looks at the prying eyes around him. The photographers appear to be waiting for a juicier shot, or maybe a better angle.

"We should get out of here, first," he says in her ear. His breath ruffles her hair and she suppresses a jolt, annoyed at the effect he still manages to have on her. She considers her options. None of them seem to allow for a very subtle exit. And she's finally drawn more than five words out of him – he's actually talking _to_ her instead of at her. Selina is afraid of losing this precious edge.

"Fine," she says, loudly enough to be heard by the crowd. "Take me home, Mr. Wayne."

He is all business again, the façade covering his shaken state.

"Of course, Miss Kyle." He does not offer his arm, and she does not reach for it. They descend the stairs together, half blinded by exuberant paparazzi. Bruce hails the valet, who scurries off to fetch his no-doubt ridiculously expensive vehicle. Selina wraps her shawl about her shoulders.

"We'll talk about it in the car," he says, trying not to admire the effect of the black lace over her otherwise bare skin.

Selina smirks, a measure of her customary cool returning.

"Which one is it this time?"


	2. Chapter 2

Home

The black sports car gleams as it pulls up smoothly before them, the purr of the engine cutting off. The valet climbs out, gingerly closing the driver's side door, and rushes over to hand Bruce the keys. He appears somewhat terrified, but his eyes are alight with the experience of driving a – well.

"The Jaguar," Selina says sardonically. "You do that on purpose?"

Bruce steps forward to hold the passenger door for her.

"Freudian slip," he says. She slides into the seat.

"Been a while since I boosted an XKE," she remarks. "1963 was a good year. Save for the wiring, of course." She snickers. "You sure this thing will run?"

The sound of the engine turning over effortlessly answers her question.

"I had the electrical redone," Bruce says. Selina gasps.

"Sacrilege!"

"It works."

Bruce pulls away from the curb and onto the empty highway. Under his breath, he mutters,

"Lucas was an idiot." Selina shakes her head in half-hearted amusement. They fall into silence.

The interior of the car is dark and close, the only light the faint glow from the antique dashboard. In their black evening attire, Bruce and Selina are nearly invisible. Only their faces are illuminated, dimly, their features thrown into sharp relief. The effect is disorienting.

Shadow enfolds Selina like a glove, altogether too comfortable. If she lets her guard drop now…

"I'm sorry," Bruce murmurs beside her. Selina inhales slowly.

"I know."

There is another pause, the both of them trying and failing to gather their thoughts. To get up the courage to say what so desperately needs to be said.

"Where are we going," she asks suddenly. He glances at her, surprised.

"You said 'home.' I assumed you meant your apartment." He hesitates. "Would… you like me to take you some other place?"

For one insane moment, Selina considers telling him where, exactly, 'home' has been for her these last six years.

Instead, she bites the inside of her cheek, forcing logic into the equation. It might be nice, should things go badly tonight, to be in a safe place to sleep. Or get drunk, depending. In any case, no matter how much she may wish differently, chances are this is going to suck, and at least at her place, he'll be the one on the road at three AM. Save her thirty bucks in cab fare and a breakdown in someone's backseat, at least.

"My place is fine." Her words are clipped. She's certain he notices, but he says nothing. Selina looks out the window, inky silhouettes flashing by outside.

She tries not to think about the concept of _home_.

For a long time, she'd never had one, not that she could remember. But she'd always thought, or maybe hoped, that she might find one someday.

What she's actually managed to scrounge together is almost a joke.

When he finally let her see under the mask, gave her a name and a face – an address – to put to the fever-dream that is… was their relationship, it was like her world shifted. She'd pretty much had his identity figured out already, sure… but the moment the cowl came off, that first moment she saw his face, unguarded, open, just for her, had been the single most surprising of her life.

Ever since then, there has been only one place.

The Universe has a terrible sense of humor.

"What you said back there," he murmurs, startling her out of her reverie. "About leaving Gotham…"

She refuses to throw him a bone. She makes him ask. Eventually, he does.

"Did you mean it?"

"If I have to."

His jaw clenches.

"What is that supposed to mean?" His voice is ominous. Selina closes her eyes.

"It wasn't supposed to be a threat, Bruce," she says quietly.

"But you did mean it."

It is suddenly hard to breathe.

"Yes," she whispers. He nods. His hands are taut on the steering wheel, and a vein is standing out near his temple. Selina wants to smooth it away, release him from that too-familiar cage of non-emotion. He hides inside of it so often.

"Bruce," she says. "Look at me." He seems to wince away from her, focusing his eyes even more fixedly on the road.

"It's not safe," he mutters stiffly. "Raining." She touches his arm, exasperated.

"Just pull over and look at me." He glances at her, indecision plain on his face. Slowly, he obliges her.

The car comes to rest on the edge of the highway, blending in with the sleek black asphalt and the rain. It is like being underwater, like space. A moment out of time, the two of them locked together in this bubble in the middle of nothingness.

But then, it always feels like that.

She turns in her seat, and he does the same, two duelers about to spar. His eyes bore into hers.

God, she could almost kiss him – just say 'screw it' for one more night, pretend like it's just sex, they're not in danger, they're not in love, they're not Batman and Catwoman.

But they can't do that anymore. Not now.

"I just have one question," Selina says. He looks at her levelly.

"What do you see when you look at me?" His eyes widen, caught off guard. He inhales.

"What do you mean?"

"Just answer the question." He looks out the window.

"I see a beautiful, intelligent woman who deserves better than me," he mutters darkly. She touches his face lightly, coaxing him back to her.

"What if I don't want better than you?"

He opens his mouth, closes it again. When he does speak, his voice is a harsh whisper.

"You should." She chuckles bitterly.

"Too late."

Upset, he reaches for her, stops, runs a hand through his hair.

"What do _you _see, when you look at me?_"_ he bites out.

"Honestly?" She lets her head fall back against the headrest. "I don't know." He looks disappointed. She goes on, grasping at ways to put her feelings into words.

"I see the way your eyes spark without the mask. I see your drive, your passion for life, and your dedication to the lives of others. I respect you, I respect your strength and your intelligence and your ability.

"But Bruce… you don't respect me. You never have."

"I respect you," he retorts.

"Like hell! You treated me as more of an equal when I was wearing purple spandex and swiping jewels from your safe."

"I recognized your potential for danger. As much as I respect your finesse as a thief – hell, you make cracking safes and weaving through lasers look like an art form – it was not so much admiration for you as a person, than for your skills."

"You mean my ass," she drawls. He flushes, with anger or guilt, she doesn't know.

"After I'd seen the real you, as a person, it was different," he grinds out.

"So as soon as I stopped bobbing and twisting around little red lights, you moved on?"

"As soon as you stop twisting my words, maybe I can make you see what I'm actually saying."

She makes a dismissive gesture.

"You have a pathological need to control people. I had power and you could see that. You didn't respect it, you wanted to control it – to control me, just like everything in your life. And as soon as you had me under your thumb, I was just another possession."

"Selina, just because I was no longer chasing you around rooftops does not mean that I…" he glances away, uncomfortable. "That I cared any less for you."

"Then why is it that the only times you ever even looked at me afterward, were when I had relapsed?"

"That's not how it was."

"Oh, no? You avoided me for months, then Ivy gets me under her spell, you see I've started stealing again, and suddenly you give a shit."

"Because I knew you were better than that!" His voice is loud in the cramped space. "You're more than a thief, Selina. I needed you to see that. I _need _you to see that."

"So then what am I, Bruce? To you?"

He grits his teeth.

"What do you want me to say, Selina?"

Her voice is even.

"The truth."

There is a very long silence.

"What you are to me," he says at last, slowly. "Is complicated."

Selina snorts. Well, what had she been expecting? 'You're the light of my life?' 'The reason I get up in the evening?' Maybe just 'a nuisance.'

"You're… hard to explain." What, he's still going on? She'd expected that one-liner to be it.

"Try," she prompts cynically.

"Selina," he mutters. "What if I can't give you a straight answer?"

"_Try." _ He exhales, frustrated.

"You are… an unforeseen complication in my life. You're unpredictable as hell, and you seem to actively attempt to drive me insane. You're confusing, flippant, and manipulative, and you never do as I say. You're independence… is something I admire."

Selina is shocked. She's never once heard him speak like this, certainly never about her.

"Golly gee, mister, I don't know what to say," she says a little distantly.

"I'm not finished," he growls. Selina's eyebrows shoot upward, but she simply gestures for him to continue.

"You're brilliant," he says, shaking his head. "Yet you fall into these patterns of self-destruction –," he glances sharply at her, quelling whatever comment she is about to make. "You're trustworthy and loyal, and you're a valuable asset in the Mission. And…" he stops. From his expression, he has not run out of words, per se, but has rather reached a blockage in his stream of conciseness.

"Go ahead," she says flatly. "I can take it."

"Selina…" He clenches and unclenches his fist pensively. "I've already told you this. You already know." She can barely hear him now. "You _are_ my greatest love. Perhaps the only woman who has ever truly held my heart."

She recognizes those words from one night in a hospital bed, long ago... He looks like he would like to say more, but cannot bring himself to.

They lapse into silence. Selina stares at her lap. Minutes pass. Eventually, the rain begins to let up.

Wordlessly, Bruce puts the key in the ignition, and eases the car back onto the road. They reach her apartment in less than ten minutes. He parks on the street, then they sit there.

Is this it? Should she get out? Tell him to get lost? Invite him upstairs?

"Love's a funny thing," she murmurs at length. "It doesn't always come with happiness."

He shifts in his seat. She sighs.

"Come up for a drink, would you?"

He looks about to protest, but changes his mind. He opens the door, following her up the steps and into the elevator leading to her apartment.


	3. Chapter 3

Stay With Me

The ride up in the elevator is quiet. Their damp garments steam in the warm, recirculated air.

Her front door is plain and unremarkable, opening onto a small entryway, revealing a tastefully decorated flat. A couch, a small loveseat, and two overstuffed chairs border a low glass table in the center of the room, a wall of books and CDs standing off to one side, a Tiffany lamp to the other. Bruce knows the kitchen branches off to the left, and her bedroom is down the hall, the second door on the right. He tries not to imagine the feel of the doorknob in his palm, the interior of the room, white bed, simple but large, dark wood vanity, wide window granting a view of the decaying city below. She likes to draw the curtains.

Selina shrugs off her shawl, draping it over the large flatscreen behind her.

"So, what'll it be," she quips. "Wine, scotch, or – let me guess – apple juice?"

He grunts at her dig. She never has passed up a chance to comment on his refusal to drink alcohol before patrol. The only reason he's had a glass tonight is because he knows Dick is back in the city, covering his shift.

In any case, he is far from impaired, and nearly takes her up on her offer of more robust libations. But he'll likely be driving again tonight. Alone.

"Water is fine. Or coffee, if it's not too much trouble."

"Not at all," she says, moving toward the kitchen.

A weird sense of domesticity falls over them as she puts the coffee pot on to heat, lifting out the beans and the grinder from an upper cabinet. She almost expects him to come up behind her and scare the shit out of her with a kiss. It wouldn't be the first time. He's always been too damn sneaky.

Bruce sits awkwardly on the edge of the couch, then moves to sit in one of the chairs, and ultimately comes back to the couch. He runs a hand over its plush surface, noting the quality. It is not quite the same as before… That one was leather.

He watches the cushion beside him, recalling a long night from years ago, sitting in this room, on not quite this couch, with Selina. She'd just gotten back from a stint in Egypt, escaped, really, from some crazy cat-cult who'd wanted her for their queen. – He shakes his head_. Only Selina._ – She'd been gone for months, disappeared without a trace, no leads, nothing to tell him where she'd gone or if she would ever be back. He had thought she was dead…

_I thought I'd lost you._

His words from that night echo in his ears. He can see her, hear the sharp intake of breath as he grips her shoulders. He can feel her lips on his, caressing, promising safety. He can taste her…

"Bruce," Selina says from the doorway. He looks up, startled. The smell of caffeine invades his nose and he is brought abruptly back to the present situation.

She sets a mug before him, steam rising slowly from its surface. There is an indecisive pause, and then she sits beside him, careful not to touch him. He waits for her to speak.

She stares into her own mug, not drinking, and sighs heavily.

"I'm tired, Bruce," she says softly. "I'm tired of this." He doesn't know how to answer her, so he says nothing.

"We do this every time. We realize we're in love, deny it, finally decide to give it a shot, and then ruin it. At this point, I have to wonder…" she rests her forehead against the rim of her cup. "Is it worth it?"

He is at a loss.

He wants to tell her, yes, of course, it has to be. He wants to pretend he doesn't know why she would even ask. He also wants to say no, it's not and it never will be. Go, get out while you still can. If you can.

"Maybe it was never love at all," she murmurs. Bruce goes cold.

"What?"

"Maybe we were wrong. We've just been lying to ourselves all this time. We're not lovers, we're just two freaks with similar taste in spandex, who get off on adrenaline rushes."

"That is not true," he says passionately.

"We wanted it to be love so badly…" He wants to shake her.

"Selina, how can you even say that?"

"People who love each other don't hurt each other the way we do, Bruce!"

He is brought up short. After a time, he reminds her,

"Happiness doesn't always come with love." Her shoulders slump.

"Then what are we even fighting for?"

He tries to give her an answer, but no words form. Such a simple question. Why does it hurt so much to consider?

"I tried to end it," he says quietly.

"You pretended to end it," she scoffs. "You always do."

"What do you want from me, Selina?" He is beginning to sound angry. Well, two can play the game of righteous indignation.

"I want you to mean it for once!" she cries, standing. "Mean _something, _just once! Either you love me or you don't, but give me a straight goddamn answer!"

"I never said I didn't care for you," he says evasively.

"Spare me." She walks away from him, crossing her arms over her chest. "Why can't you make a decision, Bruce? When we're together, you ignore me, then we end and suddenly I'm some kind of priority. Why can't you just leave me alone?"

"I didn't invite myself up to your apartment, Selina," he says scathingly. She whirls on him, furious.

"'Please, Selina, just let me take you home?'"

"I only wanted to make up for that scene at the museum," he says, the Playboy act going up like a brick wall before her.

"Well, I guess that guilt was fleeting, because you look awfully self-satisfied now."

She's never seen him shift from Bruce Wayne to the Bat so swiftly. He rises, coming toward her.

"Do not mistake my defending myself for arrogance," he says ominously.

"Oh, defense. Is that what you were doing," she hisses.

"And if you insist on attacking me—."

"Attacking you! Jesus, Bruce, I just asked you a question."

"One I cannot answer."

"Why not?"

"Because."

She stares at him.

"Bullshit," she whispers. His expression darkens.

"Selina—."

"What!" she shouts. "Get out! Give me an answer or get the hell out!"

"I…" he begins, then stops.

In the sudden quiet, a faint mewling can be heard from one of the adjoining rooms. When it becomes apparent that Bruce will not continue, Selina pads over to her office and opens the window for the cat. It shoots out, a grey streak disappearing into the night, likely putting as much distance between itself and the volatile humans as possible.

Kids can't stand it when their parents fight.

Shaking her head, Selina walks back into the living room, now-cold tension seeping from its walls. She does not look at him when she says,

"Why can't you just let me go, Bruce?"

He appears to struggle with himself for quite some time. Eventually, in a voice so strangled she can barely make out the words, he says,

"I don't know how to be happy without you."

She snorts mirthlessly.

"You don't know how to be happy, Bruce. Don't try to pin that one on me. I've got nothing to do with it."

"You do," he insists, driving himself to finally say it. "I'm not a good man."

"Don't—."

"No. It's true. I've been a terrible father. I've ruined every relationship I've ever had. I am not a happy person. But… you remind me that it's possible. That life exists outside of all the blood and death. I'm… better when I'm with you. Not happy, exactly… but you give me the ability to be happy. You remind me what it's like to try. That it's worth it."

"Thanks, lover," she snickers pessimistically. "Always said you were the single decent man I ever met."

"You deserve better," he says softly.

"So do you." She inhales sharply, the sound harsh. "Bruce, I grew up on these streets. I know what you face every night, what you see while trying to protect the innocent. I've lived it. And I've got to tell you, you're outmatched. No one is innocent in Gotham City. We're all pimps and whores in our own, special ways. When we're not genuine pimps and whores." Bruce flinches at the thread of emotion in her voice.

"And I'm just so done with it. I don't want to be that thirteen-year-old girl standing in an alley anymore. I refuse to be sold. Not as Batman's inferior or Bruce Wayne's latest conquest," she says, her eyes piercing. "I am done being owned."

The urge to touch her, to comfort her in some way is overwhelming. It's like a knife twisting in his chest, watching her like this.

"I'm sorry," he mouths, anguish robbing him of sound. She nearly laughs.

Shit.

It's a joke. All over the world, people are looking for their 'soul mate.' It's supposed to be this rare, wonderful thing that only comes along once in a lifetime, if that, and if you miss it, that's it, you lose. Well, she's found hers, and suffice to say, it's a rip-off. People act like a soul mate will never hurt you, but they're wrong. Someone that close cuts you the deepest, wounds you the most. They can break you with a word.

Dear god, why did it have to be this man? Anyone else would be better - make a little more sense. Anyone else, she could leave.

She can leave. Selina Kyle is neither weak nor dependent, and she will go to her grave, proving it. She doesn't need him, any more than he really needs her. She can function. Find things to do, people to rob. Make a life for herself as far from Gotham as humanly possible. He won't follow her. He can't. He's chained to this city.

"Bruce," she sighs, carding her fingers through her hair. "I love you. But the way you string me along… you're like a drug. I can't do it anymore." He swallows.

"I know."

"So," she says, looking him square in the face, her eyes liquid iron. "Can you do it?"

"Do what," he asks numbly. "Let you go?"

"Yes. That, or treat me as an equal, no holds barred. I told you. I won't play second fiddle. This is our last chance. We're either partners, or we're nothing. And I want a straight answer, or you leave now, and I board the first plane out of the state."

He is very still for a moment, digesting her words. The coffee in their mugs has gone cold. He sets his down on the table, watching his reflection ripple in the dark liquid. After a time, he turns back to stare out the window behind them. Rain beats down upon it, stable and rhythmic. He takes a steadying breath.

"I'm so terrified…" he begins. "That one night, you won't come back. And it will be my fault. You know me better than anyone, perhaps better than I know myself. It scares the hell out of me. I don't know how to handle… what I feel. But my greatest fear… Without you, I don't know that I would feel anything at all."

"I can't be your morality pet, Bruce," she says gently. "I have to be more to you than that."

He reaches for her hand but does not touch it.

"You are."

Something snaps, and a great wave of emotion crashes over her, love, sorrow, anger, fear.

She strokes his face.

"We're very different people," she murmurs. "And we're both very different from who we were at the start of all this. We're more weathered, we've got more scars. More regrets. We've been through a lot together over the years, a lot of battles, a lot of death. We've seen the worst humanity has to offer – but also the best. We've got a lot of history, Bruce, not all of which includes heists and handcuffs. We've shared love – happiness, even. But in the end, it all comes down to this: is it enough?"

"Enough for what?"

"Enough for you to change."

"Into what," he exclaims, shrugging off her hand. "The man you're asking for doesn't exist, Selina!"

"Do you want me to leave," she cuts him off.

"What?"

"Do. You want me. To leave?"

"What happened to 'it wasn't supposed to be a threat'?"

"It isn't one."

"It sure as hell sounds like it—!"

"Answer the damn question!"

"No!"

He is pacing, a caged animal, backed into the corner. Dangerous.

"No, what," Selina articulates slowly, deliberately. He grits his teeth.

"No, I do not want you to leave." She advances on him, staring up into his face.

"Then make. Up. Your. Mind." He matches her intensity, watching the color shift in her eyes. He can smell her hair.

"What do you want me to say?"

"You have two options, Bruce," she states. "Either you treat me as a partner and we give this one more go, or I leave. You've shown me that, as long as I stay in Gotham, I can't trust you to let me alone. I'll have your shadow hanging over me, reminding me…" she shakes her head. "How do you get over a soul mate, Bruce? You can't, certainly not while he's standing over you on a rooftop, every night. So you leave me no choice. I'm not trying to be cruel, or to trick you into letting me back into your life. But I won't live in limbo any longer.

"So here's your decision: can you do it? Is what we have enough for you to try to be a better man?"

Silence again. God, this night seems full of nothing but answerless questions and silences.

He should let her go. He should walk out right now and be done with it. Everything would be so much simpler without her, this brash, unpredictable woman. Sometimes he feels as though half his life is spent watching her walk that tightrope between good and evil, waiting for her to fall, hoping to be able to catch her.

Her life would certainly be better without him. She's said it herself, he brings her nothing but grief. And yet, she's still here, asking him to fight. She believes in him though he has failed her. He makes the same mistakes again and again, yet here she is, giving him one last chance.

And he can see in her eyes, it is his very last chance. What he says now will cement the way they carry out the rest of their lives.

Equality. That's all she wants. A relationship in which she is no one's property, under no one's command but her own. She has not demanded his obedience in anything, nor asked him to give up being what he is. She only wants that same freedom. And she wants it by his side.

Christ. What have they been fighting over all night? Suddenly, the last two hours make no sense at all.

Now they are balanced on a knife edge, and everything hangs in the balance. Make a decision.

Make a decision.

"Yes."

The breath goes out of her in a whoosh. Tears well in her eyes, and she forces them down, forces her voice to remain steady.

"Yes, what?"

"Yes," he says, his voice firm. "It is enough."

She closes her eyes, exhausted, remaining upright through sheer willpower.

"So what does that mean for us," she asks. He takes her hand, finally.

"Selina… I will love you to the day I die. I don't think there's any way to change that. If you'll stay… If you'll stay, I will love you the way you deserve. As an equal. A partner. I swear it."

"What if I break your heart," she chuckles, fighting the hitch in her voice. His blue eyes are devastating.

"I trust you."

Without thinking, she throws her arms around his neck, kissing him. He responds immediately and wholeheartedly, smoothing his hands over her bare back, pressing her closer, reveling in the feel and smell and taste of her. She runs her tongue over his bottom lip; he shivers, deepening the kiss. Relieved tears slip silently down her cheeks.

It is over as suddenly as it began. Selina breathes against his throat as he plays with her hair.

"I want to ask where we go from here," he says carefully. "What you would have me do."

"So why don't you?"

"I'm afraid I may not be able to give you what you ask for."

Ah. Yes. So many restrictions, so many rules. Love and equality are great and all, but secret identities and big-city politics still have to be appeased.

She smiles sadly. "You could still ask."

"Selina…" Tentatively, as though she might fly away at any moment, he brushes her cheek lightly with his thumb. Her skin is soft where he touches it. He pulls it back, his posture straightening. When he does speak, his voice is hushed. Just Bruce, neither of his two facades.

"What would you have me do?"

She closes her eyes, willing herself not to bring his hand back to her face, not to feel the heat radiating from him, warming her thoughts.

She takes in his features, committing them to memory.

How do you love someone who only exists in moments like these? Moments of weakness. Moments where, no matter what you choose, you're making a mistake.

He may never be able to give her anything but walls, say anything but silences.

How do you stand by someone, knowing they're not real?

He loves her.

The hardest part is, it's not a lie.

If it were a lie, an act… but it's not. The way he looks at her now, somber and mournful, holding back hope as hard as he can, it makes her want to cry. Or scream.

_What would you have me do?_

Every answer is a mistake. No matter what she chooses now, it will be the wrong decision. There are no other options at this point. There never were.

The moment stretches around them, all the air gone out of the room. Their heartbeats seem amplified, steady and slow, counting off the seconds.

Her eyes are soft, gleaming like emeralds. She takes his hand, large and calloused, cupped gently in both of hers. She lets the words out on a breath.

"Stay with me."


	4. Chapter 4

Light

She pulls him toward her bedroom, dousing the lights along the way. He follows her soundlessly, barely daring to breathe. Her room is awash in the low, yellow glare of the city below, and as she closes the curtains, violet shadows sweep across the floor.

The black evening gown falls silently to her feet, followed by his suit jacket, tie, and slacks. They step out of their shoes, leaving their clothing in a puddle at the foot of the bed. She sits on the edge, letting him settle onto his knees on the carpet before her, between her legs. He wraps his arms around her waist, breathing in the scent of her skin. He runs his lips over her stomach, raising goosebumps.

"Selina," he sighs, then tightens his arms as though in pain. "I'm s—."

She grabs his face in her hands, bending to rest her forehead against his.

"Bruce, Don't" she whispers intensely. "Don't be sorry anymore."

He shudders slightly under her touch.

"I've been a fool," he says. "I've hurt you." She smiles, moving her fingers into his hair.

"So make it up to me."

"I-,"

She covers his mouth with her own, effectively ending his protest. His eyes close. He tastes sweet and deeply familiar. Everything about this embrace is a surprise for the both of them, like coming home after an earthquake expecting a smoking ruin, and instead finding everything perfect, exactly as it was.

Selina feels as though she can breathe for the first time in weeks. She winds her arms around his neck, her lips parting. He moves his hands along her sides. When he begins to rise, to follow her onto the bed, she breaks away.

"Wait," she says breathlessly. He stills.

"What's wrong?" His voice is rough, but his self-restraint is in no danger of faltering. She brushes a lock of hair from his forehead, her heart aching.

"Can we do it," she asks earnestly. "Can we be different people?"

"Better people, you mean?" She smiles crookedly.

"Saner people, certainly."

"Wasn't it you who made a comment about a man who runs around at night, dressed as a giant, flying rodent," Bruce inquires sardonically, crossing his arms over her thighs.

"Oh, honey, I was hardly the first to put forth that point." She strokes his neck. He leans into the contact. "Really…" she continues quietly. "Is it possible?"

Bruce looks at her, her beautiful face and intelligent green eyes. How many times has he nearly lost her? How many times has he told her he trusted her, demanded she trust him, and then taken it all back, ripped the ground right out from underneath her?

"I don't know," he admits honestly. She shakes her head slowly.

"Gonna have to do better than that."

He sighs, moving to sit beside her on the bed. He takes her hand in his, playing with her fingers absently.

"I love you," he says simply.

"I love you too, Bruce." But love alone doesn't buy much these days, not in their world. It has to be more than that now.

He watches her hand, kissing the inside of her wrist before placing her palm against his cheek and sighing. When he speaks, there is steel in his voice.

"We are partners. That won't change. For everything else… we can try." She brushes her lips under his jaw, whispering in his ear.

"I guess that's all I can ask."

For tonight, it is enough. Whatever the morning brings may shatter this fragile promise, but for now, it is all they have.

He brushes his lips against hers, watching her for confirmation. Selina closes her eyes and returns the kiss, thinking of the word _home. _Then she laughs.

"What is it," he breathes.

"I'm getting cliché in my old age," she purrs. He growls.

"Never." She laughs again, letting go at last.

Bruce rolls her onto her back, trailing gentle kisses up the length of her body. She shivers, pushing up against him as he twines their fingers together on the pillow.

His dress shirt falls to the floor, followed shortly by their undergarments. Flesh against flesh, they are like live wires exchanging sparks. Wherever he touches, a slow fire ignites under her skin; every caress of her fingertips sends electricity up his spine. He nips her lightly on the neck, making her gasp. In retaliation, Selina shifts her weight, rolling them until she straddles him. For a moment, she simply gazes down at him, softly illuminated as he is in the little light that reaches them.

If for only this moment, if for only this night, her home is right here, beside this beautiful, frustrating man.

She leans forward until her breasts brush his chest, taking his bottom lip lightly between her teeth before inhaling. She watches his pupils dilate, his muscles tighten, holding back. Letting her be in control. Letting her decide.

Closing her eyes, Selina leans in.

Hours later, as the false glitter of the Gotham night disappears in the grey of morning, Bruce and Selina breathe evenly in sleep. Fitted tightly against one another, his face buried in her short, dark hair, their fingers intertwined, they form a barrier, prolonging the night as long as possible.

Their city is quiet, at peace. She gives them this interval, this tiny space between catastrophes, and they take it.

Selina smiles in her sleep as the first fingers of sunlight reach across the rooftops and fire escapes, washing away the shadows with the first light of dawn.


	5. Chapter 5

Surprises

There is a soft tapping somewhere on the other side of the ocean. Selina huffs and burrows deeper into the covers, willing it to shut up.

But soon the tapping has become a knocking, growing louder and closer. When it feels like a sledgehammer upside her skull, Selina jerks upright.

It is still dark in her room, the blackout curtains blocking all but a thin line of watery light that arcs across her ceiling like a scar. The knocking continues, identifiable now as coming from the other side of her bedroom door.

"What," she calls groggily, blowing hair out of her face.

"Selina?" comes the muffled reply from beyond the door. At the sound of the voice, Selina groans, melting back into the pillows.

Holly. Right. She's home for break. She said she'd be visiting, but Selina hadn't thought it would be at the ass-crack of dawn. She yawns, throwing an arm over her eyes.

"What is it, Holly? And can it wait till later? It's barely," – she checks the clock on the bedside table. Twelve-forty-three… PM

"Shit."

"It's time to wake the hell up, Selina," the teenager calls, annoyed. "Open up."

"Fine, gimme 'm'nute," Selina mumbles, disentangling herself from the mass of sheets.

In the brief silence, pieces of the night before come back to her, hazy recollections growing clearer and sharper, more immediate. Sitting up again, she rolls her stiff shoulders carefully. Then she takes a breath.

Waking the Beast is always a somewhat harrowing ordeal. Although he automatically rises at the ludicrous hour of four am every damn day, he will, if he judges it safe and prudent, occasionally fall back into sleep (or bed, at least) with her - but after that, he can be a nightmare when woken suddenly. Bruce Wayne is just as likely to greet the morning with a stranglehold as with a kiss. Selina's had to put him in a headlock more than once, and has developed a keen sense of admiration for Alfred in his daily duties as Wayne Alarm Clock.

"Bruce," she says quietly, her eyes adjusting to the darkness. There is no answer. She tries again, a little louder.

"Bruce." Still, he does not move. There's nothing for it.

Sighing, she reaches across the bed to gently shake him.

Her hand falls on empty air.

Abruptly alert, Selina whips her head around to look at the pillow beside hers. The covers are pulled back, revealing a man-sized dent slowly fading from the mattress.

She clambers gracelessly to the end of the bed, raking her eyes over the floor.

His clothes are gone. He is gone.

She is alone.

Selina sinks to her knees, her head falling into her hands.

"Shit," she whispers.

Of course. What the hell had she expected? Some kind of happy ending?

This is Gotham, she reminds herself acidly. There are no happy endings. Only wolves and the stupid little girls who fall for them.

"Selina? Are you alright," Holly asks. She tries to answer, but her throat has swollen painfully shut.

And perhaps it is better that way. If she could make any noise at all, she would probably scream. As it is, her chest feels like a vise, constricting against all the things she would dearly like to say.

Her face is hot and her head feels about ready to shatter, but everything else is cold, like she's been buried in deep snow. Numb.

Her emotions taste vile.

Shame and rage and self-hatred boil within her, loosening her joints, making her collapse in on herself. Her skin crawls.

God damn him. God _damn _him!

"What the heck is taking you so long?" Holly's impatience registers only dimly in Selina's awareness. Her lips twitch spasmodically.

_Oh, nothing, _she wants to cackle. _The usual. _

Just as she manages to unlock her voice, there is movement in her peripheral vision. Selina jumps like a scalded cat, nearly launching herself through the window.

"Selina," Bruce exclaims, startled, standing in the doorway to her on-suite bathroom.

"Shit!" she cries.

For a fraction of a heartbeat, all they can do is stare at one another.

He's not gone. He's here.

Why is he here?

"Selina?" Holly calls in alarm.

"I'm fine," Selina croaks.

"If you're fine, then open the damn door. We need to talk."

Selina wills her breathing to slow, her emotions to stabilize. It is like attempting to push a fallen skyscraper back upright. The ground shakes beneath her.

Too damn sneaky. What does the man do, for god's sake? Float?

"Are you alright," he asks softly, coming toward her. He is dressed again in his clothes from the night before, albeit sans tux and tie. He is still a bit rumpled, but not nearly as much as Selina expects she is.

"Sure," she breathes, swinging her feet out of bed and onto the floor. "Just give me a minute to recover from the cardiac arrest."

Maybe she should consider installing a defibrillator in the handy bedside medical kit he once insisted she keep. He likely has one already in his, the paranoid.

"Why are you still here?" Her words take him slightly aback.

"I wasn't going to leave you," he says stolidly.

Selina's eyes flutter shut a moment, and she simply breathes. When she opens them again, he smiles gently and cups her chin in his palm.

Her turbulent state calms as Bruce continues to look at her with those intent blue eyes.

Still, it hurts. Relief is a funny thing – it's nice in small doses, but can be excruciating when it shows up en masse. Which is rather unsettling.

He should not have this strong of an effect on her. She really should have expected him to be gone in the morning, never to return – or worse, to return, but only with the same cold words as all the times before. It almost bothers her that, apparently, she truly did believe him when he said things would be different this time.

But, then again, he is still here. Something is different.

"Good," she says simply. Selina shakes herself, squaring her shoulders.

She stands, grabbing a silk robe from the chair against the far wall and wraps it around herself. Then she makes her way to the door, opening it just enough to admit Holly a view of her face. The thin girl on the other side stares up at her, hip cocked, one eyebrow raised. Her bright orange hair sticks out in its customary short ponytail, and her brown eyes are amused, if a bit suspicious. Selina leans against the doorframe, feigning ease.

"What's up, Hol?"

"Can I come in?"

"Ah…" she glances reflexively at Bruce, standing frozen, out of sight from the door. "Not right now, kid."

"Well, then come out here. You'll want to be sitting down for this one."

"What are you talking about?" Selina shifts her weight, blocking more of her room from Holly's inquisitive stare.

"News," the girl replies, standing on tiptoes and craning her neck, stubbornly trying to see around her friend's figure. "Is there someone in there with you?"

"Yes, Poison Ivy and Harley Quinn. We're having a slumber party. Now what is this you're so desperate to tell me? Just spit it out, Hol, I can take it."

A weird flashback to however-many hours ago shoots through Selina's mind.

Go on, Bruce. Tell me. I can take it.

"Fine, have it your way," Holly sighs. She takes a stack of newspapers from behind her back. "Here. You made the headlines."

Selina snaps out of her reverie, staring at the front page of the Gotham Gazette, trying to focus her eyes. The words make no sense for about thirty seconds before meaning strikes with the force of a city bus.

"Shit."

"Mystery Woman Steals Kiss from Billionaire,

Gets him to take her 'Home.'"

Selina hastily drops the Gazette and flips to the next paper. The slightly more reputable, if no less annoying, Gotham Enquirer has a similar story to sell, complete with a nice big shot of the two of them, standing in the middle of the dance floor, locked together like a couple of damn hormonal teenagers.

"New Mystery or Old Flame?" the headline reads. "Gotham's own Billionaire Playboy, Bruce Wayne, was caught in a passionate embrace at the Clairmont-sponsored charity gala last night. Witnesses say the two appeared to be arguing, and then, out of nowhere, 'fell on one another as though they were drowning.'" – Selina wonders, aside, which little old woman pulled that line straight out of her sleazy romance novel – "Our question is: who is she? Our sources are scouring for evidence-."

"So," Holly swipes the papers back out of Selina's hands, a smug smile on her lips. "I'm going to make a wild guess here and say," she raises her voice to carry into Selina's room. "Hi, Mister Wayne! Would you like some breakfast?"

Selina watches her, as though deciding how to react. Finally, she chuckles.

"It appears the jig is up," she says, looking over her shoulder at Bruce. "I'd let you hide in the closet, but I think she's figured us out."

She lets go of the door, allowing it to swing open, while Bruce busies himself with adjusting his cuffs. There is a beat, and then he glances at Holly experimentally. He hasn't seen the girl in years, not since before she left for college and moved into her own apartment.

Her friendly, intelligent demeanor is a little unnerving. Beneath the pleasant face, he can feel her analyzing him. Holly's gaze cuts quick and deep, revealing all your secrets, getting right to the heart of things. She sees people for who and what they really are.

She is like Selina that way.

"So it would seem," he murmurs, considering this turn of events.

Apparently satisfied, Holly pivots on her heel and leaves them, moving toward the kitchen.

"I'll get something started," she calls back, a smirk in her voice. "You two make yourselves presentable for the media shit storm that's about to blow up in your faces."

Selina and Bruce exchange a look. What are they going to do?

Promises are one thing, and great sex is great, but neither of them is ready to make public announcements about their would-be relationship. It's hot and it's intense, but still so precarious. So… potentially impermanent. They're still working out the details themselves. And neither of them certainly ever planned on releasing any of this information to the press.

What the hell are they going to do now?

"And by the way," Holly says from the kitchen. "You left gross old coffee in the pot all night. I'll have to clean the thing before making any more. Sorry, you're shit out of caffeine this morning."

Selina lets her head come to rest against the door jamb, her lips curling up. She laughs quietly, rubbing her temples with her thumb and forefinger.

"Shit."


	6. Chapter 6

Consequences

Selina comes back into the room, closing the door behind her. Bruce stands rigidly before her, as though waiting for orders.

"At ease, soldier," she says dryly. He relaxes his stance, but his expression remains tense and unreadable. "Don't worry," she adds lightly. "There's a coffee shop at the end of the block. I think I've still got one of your old shirts, if you want to take Matches Malone out for a stroll. Of course, I always did prefer Lefty What's-His-Face. Nice guy. Had a mean right hook, as I recall." He gives her a long-suffering look and Selina raises an eyebrow.

"Not talkin', eh?"

"What is there to say," he finally asks.

"Oh, I dunno. 'Good morning,' 'Good day,' 'Good God, what the hell are we going to do about all of this?'"

"I am… concerned," he says. She snorts.

"Ah, yes. I could tell by your expressionless gaze."

"My expression is inadequate?" he huffs.

"Well, I'd appreciate some sign of life. Let me know you're still breathing in there." He simply stares at her. "A kiss would be a nice touch." He does not take the hint.

"Hey," she says, her tone suddenly more serious. She places a hand on his cheek, looking into his eyes with concern. "Don't shut me out."

"I'm not," he denies.

"You are." He takes her hand gently from his face.

"This isn't the time for games," he says. "We need to be planning our next move, not ignoring the situation. No matter how desirable the distraction. This is important."

"I know it is. That's why I need you to be here, with me, not locked away inside yourself. Too many times, Bruce, I've stood in a room with you, and you weren't there. I won't start this if I'm going to be alone, even while sitting right next to you. When we face this, we have to face it together. I need that from you."

He watches her, weighing his response.

"This isn't a relationship if you can't trust me," he says quietly. "I need to know that you can."

"I do, Bruce, it's…" she sighs. "It's hard." His heart constricts.

"I know."

"And I know you're not the only one who's ever pulled a double-cross," she admits. "I guess the door swings both ways." He nods softly, regretfully.

"It always does."

For a moment, they are quiet, listening to the sounds of Holly bustling away in Selina's tiny kitchen. The smell of bacon begins to fill the apartment, and the two adults are suddenly, acutely aware that neither of them has eaten in nearly fourteen hours. They left the charity event before dinner was served.

"Put that topic on the list of discussions we need to have when we're not running on fumes," Selina suggests. Bruce nods.

"Good plan."

She regards him thoughtfully. He's trying, but even now, he's still so distant.

Breaking Bruce out of his moods has always been one of Selina's more challenging pass-times. Like breaking into the Vatican or the Taj Mahal, it requires a mixture of subtlety and skill. Of all the tricks of the trade, those are the two most useful, but Selina's personal favorites have always been blackmail and bribery. And while not usually effective against the Dark Knight, there are buttons to push, loopholes in his manifesto. Years of knowing the man has given Selina a distinct edge in exploiting these infinitesimal weaknesses, those things that make him human. That bring him back to himself. That bring him back to her.

And Selina Kyle does enjoy a challenge.

As-though casually, she lets her shoulders drop, resting her weight on one hip. Then she stretches, catlike, closing her eyes and arching her back, raising one arm languidly over her head.

Slowly, the dark silk robe yields to gravity and slips to the side, the knot at her waist coming loose. When she straightens again, it falls open entirely to reveal the full, naked curves of her body.

Having now captured Bruce's absolute attention, she saunters forward until she is nearly flush against him, their lips a hair's breath away. His breathing is shallower, his broad muscles flexed.

She cocks her head to one side, kissing the corner of his mouth softly. It twitches once, then finally turns up.

"You're cruel," he murmurs. She chuckles, low and sultry against his throat, her hands moving lower. He makes a strangled sound and steps slightly away from her.

"I like these pants," he says quietly, by way of explanation.

"Mm, so do I," Selina replies, her eyes dancing. "I'd like them even better, pooled around your feet."

"Selina-!"

"I'm teasing you," she laughs.

"I noticed," he grumbles, flushed. Her expression changes.

"Stay," she says, touching his chest with her fingertips. "With me. Mentally, I mean."

"Stay with me," he counters. "Physically. Preferably without the distractions, for now." She scoffs, but considers his words.

"You first," she says at last. He shakes his head in exasperation.

"You're so stubborn."

"You're surprised?"

"Not at all." She smiles briefly.

"So tell me. Will you stay?"

He takes a breath, feeling the importance of this question and its short answer. In one fell swoop, another of his walls comes crumbling down. She is drawing him out of his fortress, forcing him from solitude. She's done it before, but it somehow feels different this time. He cannot decide whether he is grateful, afraid, resentful, or some combination of the three.

In the end, it doesn't matter. It's what she needs from him now. He can only make the leap, and hope to god he isn't lying.

"I will," he says. Her body relaxes, the faint tension in her shoulders unnoticeable until its absence. She nods once. "And you," he asks. She brushes her thumb across his lips, her eyes amused.

"I will." He kisses her knuckles. She grins wickedly. "Although I'd still prefer those pants in shreds, on my floor."

"Reneging so soon?" He inquires sardonically.

"Merely a parting shot, my dear." She bows theatrically, and shrugs the robe entirely from her shoulders, letting it fall to the carpet as she moves toward the closet.

Bruce stares after her, standing very, very still. His face feels hot. So do several other places.

"I wish you wouldn't do that," he mutters, frustrated in more ways than one.

Selina shrugs flirtatiously, her expression saying it all.

It worked.

He recognizes her success by ignoring her, but can't seem to find his way back to that stony silence of before. He shakes his head bemusedly.

She really is the only one who can do that.

Selina opens her wardrobe, sorting haphazardly through its contents. She pulls out a plum-colored blouse and a black skirt, and lays them on the bed. Then she steps into the shower, the water warm on her tired skin. She wonders idly if Bruce might join her, but at the thought of Holly just down the hall, she banishes the idea. She washes quickly, finishes her morning routine, and exits the bathroom, a towel wrapped around her chest, another around her forehead, drying her hair. When she removes it, the short locks stick straight out at odd angles, like a mass of dark feathers. Bruce hides a smile at the sight of her, fascinated.

As she dresses, Selina realizes that this is the first time he has watched her change into anything but her catsuit. The implications are provocative.

Suddenly over-conscious of her audience, she pauses, watching his face in the mirror. He looks rather appreciative.

She smoothes her hair with her fingers, returning it to its normal sleek state, keeping her makeup light and simple. And all the time, she can feel his eyes on her. It is odd. Not unpleasant, exactly, but… odd.

"How do I look," she asks, turning to face him.

"Beautiful," he answers without hesitation.

"Thanks, lover," she grins. Then she steps to the window, throwing open the heavy curtains. In an instant, the room is awash in bright afternoon sunlight, the sudden change harsh on their eyes. They have both been trained to adjust to any situation within seconds, but starlight lenses and color filters tend to play a significant role in the practical application of that training.

Selina gazes down at the street below, crowded refuse and people. It's not the worst housing project in the East End, and she certainly keeps up her own building and living spaces, but the view is less than pleasant.

Bruce watches the dust motes glint and dance around her slender frame, circling closer and closer, but never touching her. Her damp hair is a gilded halo in the light, lingering droplets catching the rays and throwing them about like jewels. Her cheeks are soft and dusky with the glow, and when she turns to look at him, her eyes are fired emeralds. She takes his breath away.

"We have a problem," she drawls, shattering the moment.

"What is it," he asks apprehensively.

"Your car's been stolen," she says. He blinks.

"What?"

"Guess we really should have thought that one through better, huh?" She gestures him to the window, pointing to the sidewalk far below. "It's gone. The jag." She rubs the back of her neck. "Car like that, left alone at night in this neighborhood? We must have really been distracted. Sorry. Would it help if I said I'll buy you another one?" Bruce shakes his head.

"It's not stolen," he says.

"What, your bat-senses are telling you that it just took off on its own for a little joy ride?"

"No. It's back at the Manor." She looks at him, artificially aghast.

"What, first you gut the poor thing to put in your new, fancy wiring, and then you bastardize its memory by installing autopilot? It's an antique, Bruce, it deserves a little more respect than to become a life-sized, bat-themed Hotwheel."

"I did not install an auto-piloting system," he says a little petulantly. "Alfred came and got it."

"Oh." Selina blinks. "When?" He shifts uncomfortably.

"Sometime last night." A feeling of dread begins in the pit of Selina's stomach.

"And he knew to do this, how, exactly?" Bruce clears his throat.

"I assume that Nightwing told him."

"And Dick would know to call the old man, why?" Bruce tries and fails to lie to her. He considers several half-lies that might lend him some plausible deniability, but ultimately decides against it.

In the end, he settles for the truth, letting it all out on one breath, his careful stoicism cracking under her intense scrutiny.

"I was supposed to be on patrol last night, after the gala. When I didn't show up, and refused to answer any calls, Nightwing likely contacted Oracle, who would have then tracked the car here, and made conclusions about the situation – which I would normally dissuade her from doing without sufficient evidence, but…" He clears his throat again, risking a glance in Selina's direction. "In this case, she was demonstrably correct."

Selina looks about to say several colorful things, but instead holds up her index finger, demanding silence from him while she chooses her words.

"So then, they know," she says at last, her voice flat. He makes no move to confirm nor deny, simply stands there, awaiting the explosion. Selina rubs her eyes as though they hurt. "I'm beginning to wish you had put autopilot in the damn car."

"I installed a homing device," he offers.

"So I gathered." She looks at him straight then, and he can't help but be trapped by her stare. "You're telling me," she says. "That they know. All of them. Alfred, Dick, Barbara, probably Leslie too, by now – Oh god! Will the kids have heard?"

The corners of Bruce's mouth turn down. He hasn't thought about Tim or Cassandra. Or any of the other young heroes zooming in and out of the house these days. And he has no idea how Damien might react to something like this.

"They're old enough to deal with it," he says gruffly, trying to convince himself as much as Selina, who looks a little green.

"I know," she sighs. "I just never imagined myself as gossip for thirteen-year-olds. Not for this, anyway." Bruce coughs discreetly.

"You should probably have let go of that expectation the first time Robin went on patrol with me."

"That doesn't count," she maintains. "He was just an annoying, peppy sidekick back then, not someone I actually knew. He's a friend now, and the others… Bruce, for Christ's sake, I've babysat some of them! And now, they'll be telling jokes about…" She falls into a cushioned chair set against the wall.

"They would have found out anyway," he points out. "The whole city is investigating now. Which," he adds mildly, "is the real problem we should be attending to."

"Screw the city," Selina snaps. "Our kids are-." She cuts herself off suddenly, startled. There is a long beat, but neither of them addresses her slip. When Selina speaks again, they continue the conversation as though nothing happened.

"The kids are more important, and therefore more pressing."

"They would have found out," he repeats.

"Yes, eventually," she counters. "For now, it would have been gossip, just one more sordid story made up or embellished to sell papers. But instead, everyone – everyone who matters – knows that Batman and Catwoman are officially fucking." She flushes and looks away, angry. "Again."

"Is that what this is about," he asks, sitting on his haunches before her. Even with her in the chair, he comes up nearly to her shoulder. "Are you upset that we… did this? Made love? Again?" She lets out a breath.

"No, Bruce," she says earnestly. "I am not upset. I have no regrets about last night. It's just, I never had a reputation to keep up before, other than Femme Fatale, Feline, and Felon – and I was a damn good felon."

"Still are," he notes wryly. She smirks.

"Thank you. But I never cared about what anyone thought of me, as long as it got me what I wanted in the long run. I had Holly, and no one else. And then I didn't even have her anymore.

"For a long time, even you were just a pawn in a game I thought I was playing. An extremely attractive pawn, and one whom I would have missed, had you mysteriously disappeared one night – but that's the point. For however long I've loved you, from first sight, first scratch, or somewhere down the line, I've denied it to myself for at least half as long. It didn't matter what you thought because I didn't know you, and I didn't care. When that changed, it was like my whole life reordered itself to make room for this… this mythological thing called 'giving a shit.'

"I care about these kids, and Alfred, and Dick. And even Babs. It matters, what they think of me, now. I can't help it." She shakes her head indignantly. "God, that sounds pathetic."

"It's not pathetic," Bruce contends, rising to his knees and taking her face in his hands. "It's crucial. And something I've never been very good at."

"You're not so bad," Selina says. Then she smirks involuntarily. "Well, you've been getting better, lately. That counts for something, right?"

"I hope so," he murmurs, then ends the conversation with a kiss. She responds, slowly at first. He wraps his arms around her, mussing her clothes, and leans in, pressing her into the back of the chair. Selina breaks the kiss to trail her lips along his jaw, while he sucks lightly at her earlobe. The chair squeaks.

No, that was the door.

"Get a room," Holly drones, leaning against the door frame with a spatula in her hand.

"This is my room," Selina grumbles into the collar of Bruce's shirt. Holly shrugs, completely unabashed.

"Breakfast is ready. Hope you like pancakes. It's all Selina had left in the pantry."

Breakfast is a strangely domestic affair. They sit and eat while Holly talks about college life, what the weather is like upstate, and how she misses Slam and Selina. But not Gotham.

"It's a little hard to be back, honestly," she says uncertainly. "All these places, these streets, they hold so many memories. It was nice to forget."

Bruce thinks about that. If he'd moved away when he was eight, to another state, another country, would he be a happier person now? He hadn't because he'd thought that he could fix this city, save the people in it. He'd thought the memory of his parents that night would never fade, so he looked for ways to make it mean something more than senseless death. But all he's done is create more memories he can't escape, more alleys he hates to go down.

He can see that Selina is thinking along the same lines, though he knows her memories run with different context. She'd had no way to leave when her life fell apart, nowhere to go. She'd been five years old, her sister had been an infant, and by the time she could board a bus on her own, she was stranded and starving on the street. Yet she managed to survive, to reinvent herself. Through thievery and cunning, she bought herself a new life. She could have left right then, she had the money. But she stayed.

Because of him.

Catwoman had met Batman, had been presented with a challenge. These streets could no longer hold her. He had given her the rooftops.

If he'd left when he was eight, if he'd never cast a shadow for her to see, would either of them be here right now? Would they be happier?

Back in reality, Selina is chuckling.

"Thanks for coming to visit anyway, kid," she says. "Are you going to see Karon anytime soon?"

"This afternoon, yeah," Holly replies happily. "So I should probably get going, actually." She puts her plate in the sink, then reaches over to take Bruce's and Selina's. "You two have fun with your press conferences."

"What-?"

"Oh, there will be press conferences," Holly grins. "At least for Bruce. The vultures are gathering at his gates as we speak." Selina scoffs.

"Come on, Hol, it's not like the man's never kissed a woman for the cameras – hell, it's not even the first time the woman's been me."

"That's the point," she says. "He's been seen with every socialite on the East Coast at some point. But he's never cared about one them before – And the show you two put on last night is about as far from the usual Wayne circus bumbling as it is possible to get. It's on every channel – you're the scandal of the century in this town." Selina rests her chin on her fist.

"This town has seen its mayor, police commissioner, and half its police force either killed or charged with federal crimes, all within the last century. Hell, there's a full-fledged family of masked vigilantes active in the city every night, and the action between the Wayne bed sheets is the number one scandal?"

Privately, Bruce echoes her sentiment.

"But those things are upsetting," the teenager argues. "Or at the very least, depressing. Even you masked heroes just remind people that they live in a city that's so messed up, it needs five full-time, highly-trained, extralegal crime fighters just to keep it from eating itself alive.

"But something like this, it gives people hope."

"Batman gives people hope," Bruce disagrees softly.

"Yes, but it's a hope of being rescued from certain doom," Holly explains, gesturing with her hands. "This thing with Bruce Wayne, it's just fluff. It's easy. You ever wonder why we get stories about new exercise trends beside features on mass murder? People need that escape."

"And why would they find it in this," Bruce asks with some slight irritation. But either Holly can't hear it or doesn't care, because she barges right on ahead.

"For once, Gotham's first son is showing real feelings for someone other than himself. They're wondering if the prince may finally have found a princess. One who'll stick around for more than a few months. Maybe even for good."

"I was never really the 'princess' type, kid," Selina mutters. "And His Highness here has had his fair share of contestants for the Gazette's 'Who Wants to Marry a Billionaire' routine. This is nothing new."

"But it is more public," Bruce concedes reluctantly. "Even when the papers did hear about someone I was seeing exclusively… who, though they didn't know it, was, in fact, you more often than not… we were never open about it. No one ever knew the details."

"And now they're out for blood," Selina states.

"Exactly," Holly says.

"Great."

Bruce pats her knee awkwardly under the table.

"Sorry," he whispers.

"Shut up."

"Well, I'm off," Holly exclaims cheerfully. She walks to the front door and calls back over her shoulder, "Good luck!" Then it is closed, and they are alone. In the ensuing quiet, Selina and Bruce watch one another across the table. Finally, Selina takes a breath.

"Seriously," she says. "What are we going to do?"


End file.
